


Happy Trails

by Baby_Spinach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Archangels, Canon Rewrite, Canon Until 14.14 Ouroboros, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Possession, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-11-28 09:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baby_Spinach/pseuds/Baby_Spinach
Summary: Time has run out. Sam must fulfill the promise he once made to send his brother to the dark ocean depths.





	Happy Trails

A pair of painfully familiar hazel eyes fix unblinkingly on Sam from the rearview mirror’s reflection. They’re as still and cold as stones, without a trace of their usual warmth or life. But then again, it’s a different occupant resting behind them now. 

Sam’s knuckles tighten on the Impala’s wheel. As hard as he tries, he can’t resist meeting that unsettling gaze every few seconds. His backseat passenger takes notice.

“Having seconds thoughts?” Michael says, a mocking lilt to his stolen voice.

He’d been cuffed before he’d had the chance to snap into his overcoat and hat ensemble, and his cold, aloof expression is somehow even more disconcerting in Dean’s denim and flannel.

Sam chews the inside of his cheek, but doesn’t respond. What good would it do?

“You’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with this,” he continues. “After all, you’re honoring your brother’s wishes and saving the world. You’re a hero, Sam.”

The words tear away at Sam’s insides like a serrated knife, just as Michael knew they would. Sam spares another glance at the rearview mirror, and the same stony gaze looks back.

“If you’re still searching for signs of Dean, don’t bother,” Michael says. “I wasn’t as kind to him this time.” He smiles, but his eyes don’t crinkle in the slightest. “Right about now, he wishes he were merely drowning.”

Sam quickly forces aside the endless horrific possibilities immediately unleashed upon his imagination. He must focus. He can fall apart, shatter into a million pieces, when this is all over.

When Dean is at the bottom of the ocean.

*

The ringing of his phone is a welcome reprieve.

“Cas? How’s it looking?”

“Not good. Sam, Michael’s monsters are coming for him by the hundreds, from dozens of different directions. And… it looks like they’re turning civilians to add to their numbers.”

“So, business as usual?”

Sam’s feeble attempt at humorous bravado falls flat, even to himself.

There’s an awkward silence. Cas must be chewing carefully on his next words. “Sam, I wish… there were another way.”

Sam clenches his jaw. “Yeah.”

Michael’s army had been the primary roadblock in all of the alternate solutions that Cas and Sam had attempted to come up with. As long the archangel was topside, regardless of the warding they placed over him, he would hold complete command over his minions. Monsters would swarm them wherever they went, or worse, begin to steadily turn the entire human population while they were busy trying to save Dean.

As laid out by Billie’s death book, the only thing that could sever, or at least hinder, Michael’s connection to his army would be the combination of a Malak box and a mile or so of ocean water. It all added up to an infuriatingly straightforward final course of action.

“I wish I could have said goodbye.”

This startles Sam out of his ruminations. He steals another glance at the backseat archangel wearing his brother’s face.

“No, it’s probably for the best,” Sam says. His throat suddenly closes up, and he swallows hard.

“I’m not sure there’s anything left to say goodbye to.”

*

Hours of roadside landscapes have passed them by. The sun has dipped into the late afternoon.

“It must aggravate you,” Michael finally says.

“What?” Sam asks, momentarily forgetting himself.

“After everything you and your brother went through, your numerous victories against fate and destiny, the final ending for one of you is a dark eternity in a metal box at sea. Surely you deserve better, after all you two have suffered?”

“When has what we deserved ever mattered?”

Engaging Michael will only make things worse, but Sam can’t help himself. His long-simmering anger has finally risen to the surface: anger at fate, at Billie, at Michael, at _Dean_ , especially, for making him promise to carry out this final, unthinkable solution.

“You’re unhappy with the cards you’ve been dealt. I can understand that.” Michael smiles, and this time it’s Dean’s smile--warm, mischievous, a little cocky. Sam’s heart leaps in instinctual hope while his stomach recoils in instinctual nausea. “If you were to let me go, I’d quickly get around to punishing the one responsible.”

“Who, Chuck?” Sam scoffs in an attempt at dismissive scorn. “Okay, he’s not exactly Father of the Year, but he did give you free will like the rest of us. It’s not his fault you’re a… dick with daddy issues.” It’s something that Dean would say, and the realization twists at Sam’s insides again.

Michael’s smile fades, but he doesn’t rise to the provocation.

A few minutes pass. This time, Sam breaks the silence.

“You’re handling all this pretty well.” A part of him--the suicidal part, maybe--wants to see that serene, unaffected façade crack just a little. “You know where I’m taking you, right? You’ll be trapped forever, with no escape.”

“Forever is a long time,” Michael replies. His eyes twinkle with mocking mirth. “I’d give you a year, tops, before you’re fishing me back out again with some desperate, half-baked plan up your sleeve.”

It does sound disturbingly plausible. “So that’s what you think?”

“Dean knows you, _Sammy_ , better than you know yourself. And now, so do I.”

Michael leans back and glances at his wrists, which are cuffed securely to the door handle. The sigils inscribed into his metal restraints have begun to glow and liquify.

Sam notices this as well. He depresses the accelerator another few degrees.

“Better hurry along, Sam. Clock is ticking,” Michael says sweetly.

*

The sun has just vanished over the horizon, leaving them to the mercies of a rapidly darkening night. The boat’s owner, a swarthy man named Luke, has retreated below deck to give some privacy to his passengers and some plausible deniability to himself. A torrent of questions had bloomed across his face upon sight of the Malak box, but a few hundreds from Sam’s wallet had sated his curiosity just as effectively.

The warded iron coffin is propped against the boat’s railing, one robust push away from the cavernous fathoms of the open sea. And inside lies the most powerful archangel in creation.

A muffled, echoey voice drifts out from the Malak box. “What are you waiting for, Sam? Have you lost your nerve at the final threshold?”

Sam squints against the salty ocean breeze, his heart jackhammering in his ears. He steps closer and puts a trembling palm onto the dark metal. Its surprisingly warm surface almost pulses against his skin, as if an unspeakably powerful force inside were straining against its confinement.

“Any last words, Michael?” Sam says, fighting to keep his voice steady. The boat gently rocks against the undulations of the sea.

“For myself? Not at all. But your brother has a few. For old times sake, I suppose I could give you two a moment.”

Before Sam can truly register what Michael has said, an achingly familiar sound from inside the box immediately obliterates everything else on his mind.

“Sammy?”

It’s Dean’s voice, tender and hesitant. Sam’s knees suddenly weaken. He clutches the railing for support.

“Dean… I… how are you?” he asks stupidly.

“The accommodations could be a bit better.” Dean forces a brief laugh. “Still prefer this to that motel in Reno, though.”

Sam laughs as well. He can’t help it. “Yeah, the bed bugs from hell.”

“Thought it was a rash from that waitress. But you had it too, and you never get laid, so…”

Sam almost rolls his eyes. Even here, of all places, Dean just can’t resist a jab.

“You taking care of my girl?”

“Who--oh, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll keep her tuned up and running. Your ‘girl’ is going to be just fine.”

 _But you won’t be_ , is the unspoken postscript. Sam chews the inside of his cheek until it hurts.

“You’d better treat her right. Otherwise, I might just break out of this sardine can and come kick your ass.”

“Yeah, I believe you.”

There’s an odd, protracted pause. The wind ceases.

“Sammy.” Dean’s brittle veneer of bravado is completely gone. He may actually be holding back a sob. “You were right. I don’t think I can do this.”  

Sam’s mind blanks out for a good two seconds as he tries to process what his brother has said. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“We’ll find a way to deal with Michael’s monsters. We’ll figure it all out, okay? Let’s just go home, Sammy.”

The words ignite a wave of jubilant relief at Sam’s core.

His hands are already at the latch before his brain catches up and stops them in their tracks. A cold trickle of icy realization quickly extinguishes that brief, radiant flare of hope. His hands drop and clench in fists at his sides.

He takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Sammy?”

The voice still sounds exactly like Dean. Sam would have bet his life on it. But he has also learned to second-guess every droplet of good fortune that ever crossed paths with the cursed Winchester family.

“You can drop the charade now, Michael,” Sam finally says through gritted teeth. “Solid effort, though.”

A brief pause. Then, the archangel’s silky contempt returns. “I had you fooled for a moment, though, didn’t I?” The metal reverberates gently with his chuckles. “Trust me, Dean is in no shape for lengthy, heartfelt farewells at the moment.”

Sam steps closer to the box, his nose almost touching the metal. “Do you know how I saw through you?”

No response.

“Because my brother is braver than you could ever hope to be. He would never back out of doing what was right, no matter what it cost him.”

Sam braces his arms against the Malak box. He must be quick, before his nerve fails him like it almost did a few seconds ago.

It’s what Dean would want.

“Happy trails, Michael.”

He pushes.   

*

The bunker is deserted and serene, the lights dimmed.

Cas is waiting for him with a neatly assembled peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a plate. Sam accepts the offering and immediately bites into it, more to appease Cas than his own non-existent appetite. He sets down his duffle bag and takes a seat in the library.

Cas follows suit and sits opposite Sam, his tired blue eyes pensive and solemn.

“How are you?” Cas asks.

Sam focuses on chewing and swallowing his food, which sticks in his mouth like glue. “I’m fine.”

They both know it’s a lie, but neither push it further. It’s something of a family tradition among them nowadays.

“The other hunters are still out there trying to track down the enhanced monsters, but without Michael commanding them, they’ve scattered again. They won’t be easy to track.”

Sam nods and takes another bite, barely tasting it.

They exchange a few more terse words, but the gaps of silence in-between are far heavier and more meaningful.

Cas soon leaves to go help with the hunting effort, leaving Sam alone in the cavernous halls of their home.

The silence is suffocating. He almost expects a boisterous voice to echo from the kitchen, making some disgusted comment on the sickly-green smoothies in the fridge.

_“Sammy, I know we’re supposed to be related, but is there any chance there was a mix-up at the hospital?”_

_“Shut up, dude. At least I’ll reach fifty.”_

_“Fifty miserable years of deprivation, maybe. Yeah, no thanks.”_

Sam crosses over to the whiskey decanter, pours out a robust serving, and takes a massive, fiery gulp.

In a distant corner of his mind, just beyond the roiling grey ocean of grief, anger, and guilt that threatens to pull him under, Sam can almost see the next steps he might take.

Perhaps someday, in the near future, he’ll find it within himself to return to the grind. He may discover some obscure spell in the endless troves of lore that could track Michael’s monsters. Perhaps they’ll even manage to exterminate them all. And perhaps, after this victory, they’ll be free to trawl through the oceans and finally retrieve that dark metal coffin from the murky depths.

And one distant day, after countless grueling stretches of research, risk, and unconventional logic, they may even get Dean Winchester back. Sam would fiercely embrace his brother, hold onto him for dear life, and never let go again.

But today, Sam can only drink.

It’s a long time before he stops.


End file.
